intuition & Inner Knowing

Losing someone early in life often leaves behind a wound too deep for words. When the person lost is your emotional anchor—your safe space—the grief becomes even harder to process. And when it's left unexpressed, it can silently shape your body, your mind and your future.

That’s exactly what happened to me- my journey of healing began years after losing my elder brother.

“I’m the youngest of six siblings. My closest brother was nine years older than me, but he was everything. He understood me without words. I felt safe, seen.”

At the time of my brother’s wedding, I had just begun college. Life felt full of possibilities. But only 16 days later, tragedy struck. My brother was on his way to Jharsuguda from Sambhalpur to attend a wedding. En route his vehicle met with an accident. That one phone call that I  received with the news, changed my world forever.

I still remember the words. They shattered something inside me.

I didn’t know how to grieve. So I buried the pain and then just pushed forward with life—graduating, getting married, becoming a mother. Outwardly, everything looked fine. But inside, I felt hollow and emotionally disconnected.

I was just ticking boxes, but something always felt off.

My suppressed grief soon began showing up in my body—thyroid imbalance, PCOD, a disc prolapse and chronic fatigue. Eventually, I  became bedridden and was so helpless that I could'n't even care for my toddler.

I didn’t recognize the person I had become.

I was at the rock bottom when something shifted in me. My intuition whispered a choice: stay stuck or start healing. I just knew it that this is the point of no return. I listened and  began reconnecting with my emotions, my body, my breath. I found support through Ayurveda, yoga, meditation and holistic therapies. With each step, she slowly untangled years of internal pain and numbness.

The healing wasn’t instant—it took six years of deep work. But I returned home to myself. Now, I hold space for others to reconnect with themselves. Because true healing begins when you finally meet yourself.

(Today, Premsai is a transformational clarity coach, a leadership facilitator and a yoga practitioner. But more than titles, she is a woman who feels whole again)

 Mogulappa had been sleeping in the open fields ever since he was a child. Nestled under a sprawling banyan tree on his 2-acre land in Warangal district near Hyderabad, this solitary spot had, over the years, become his sacred space — a place where he felt most at peace. Now 56, a father of three daughters, Mogulappa was seeking a suitable match for his second daughter. He planned to sell one acre of his land to make ends meet.

Though farmlands in the outskirts of cities like Hyderabad were fetching higher rates, finding buyers wasn’t easy. Most people wanted investment-ready land they could visit and manage. For that reason, despite being a regular commuter to Hyderabad, Mogulappa found it hard to close a deal.

By day, he worked as a cab driver, enlisted with a city-based agency. Each morning, he’d take an 8 a.m. train and reach his office by 9, ready for bookings. On days with early rides, he’d stay back at the office overnight. He met many people during his drives — and often, something within nudged him to bring up his land. It wasn’t a forced pitch; rather, a quiet knowing that someone out there would be the right connection.

For three months, he spoke about his land whenever his intuition guided him. But nothing came of it.

Then came an assignment — a ride with Shrishti, who was headed on a tour of Warangal. On the way, he once again spoke about his land, almost instinctively. Sensing his sincerity, Shrishti — though not a buyer — agreed to mention it to her network.

He took her to a mango orchard on the way, and they plucked ripe mangoes from low-hanging branches. Then, they walked toward the adjoining field. As she looked around, taking in the trees, the open skies, and the house nestled in solitude, something stirred within her. She had lived a fast-paced, professional life — but here, in the middle of nowhere, she could feel the depth of Mogulappa’s connection to the land.

The spot where he slept — under the grand banyan tree — seemed unassuming in the blazing sun. Yet, it exuded a calm, timeless energy. She asked if he ever felt afraid sleeping there, alone and without electricity.

“No,” he said simply. “These are my ancestors’ lands. I know they watch over me. I feel protected. There are no mosquitoes here, and I sleep deeply. This is where I feel most alive. My only worry is having to sell part of it.”
 

Shrishti smiled, quietly moved by his inner knowing — that deep, unshakable trust in something greater, something unseen.

And perhaps he was right.

Within weeks, Mogulappa found a buyer. But not just any buyer — someone who asked Mogulappa to continue caring for the land, even after the deal. He remained under the same banyan tree, still sleeping under the stars, still held by the land that raised him.

The land may have changed ownership, but the spirit of it — and the man who trusted his intuition — stayed exactly where it belonged.

(Names changed on request)